Families!!!

Oh, so, in early January a family visit was arranged for April. Gazebo was up. Plenty of space. No probs. Gite and chambre d'hote booked for family members, and looking good.

Late January, and the great wind killed the gazebo. Oh dear. What to do. No dry space anywhere except the original caravan. Would be a bit of a squeeze getting all of us in there. Visit would have to be cancelled. But it was booked. Didn't want to let the family down, so buried head in sand and hoped a solution would magic itself up. It did. Another caravan came onsite, together with an awning. Great! Could squeeze us all in there. Just about.

The family pow-wow. Missing some members, and me looking like Mrs Indiana Jones. I'm the one in white and wearing the hat.




This was on the one dry day. After that it was back-to-back days of rain. But our family rallied together, put their wellies on, and smiled their way through.

Not one word of complaint, not one word of moan. Soaked for a lot of the time, but stoical throughout.

And Labartere gathered to herself another little helper, by way of grandson Joshua, who absolutely loved the weather, preferring the wet to the sun I think.


More puddles, you see. More fun. The mud was an added bonus.

And a frazzled me, proud of the more stoical elements of the family, and glad that we all survived.

Everyone is back in their lives, and we are back in ours. But our visitors have left a bit of themselves here, and feel no distance at all away from us because of that.

Good memories are to be treasured. Not so good memories need to be evaporated away in the mists of time.

Wild food revisited.

I am developing a passion I didn't know I had, and that is for herbs and 'wild' eating.
Following on from the blog 'Wild Eating' 16.03.09: I thought I sounded a real wooz about eating dandelions. Upon meeting Maddi (Bruno's wife) in the supermarket yesterday, I became enthused by her enthusiasm for the plant. Apparently it is good for all sorts of things including going to the loo (Number 1's). This was further inspired by Bruno popping along with Jade (his daughter) in tow, both on bikes, and carrying large baskets. They were off on a dandelion hunt.

And it occurred to me that looking for wild food in the wild itself might be fun. Ok, so I know that we aren't actually living in the 'wilds': two reasonably sized supermarkets are within half an hour drive of us, which isn't bad for France! But not to have in the larder, or awning in my case, food which has not been brought home in a bag is starting to grip my interest. Can I be bold enough to eat something which has not had a label on it? Can I have enough courage to go pick and eat wild plants, and make myself get past my reliance on supermarket 'fresh' produce?

Well, I am going to have a go! For today: Nettle tea. An Internet search has produced a recipe, which is really shoving some nettle leaves in a pot of hot water. Even I should be able to manage that. And in case you think I am avoiding dandelions, - I'm not. Only Maddi eats them as a salad, and trying to get Lester to eat a bowl of dandelion leaves is going to be an impossible task, so I thought I would be naughty and make a mixed salad and sort of hide a few dandelion leaves amongst the lettuce.

Mmmmmmm. Need to make a salad for lunch then. Better pop into the supermarket and buy a lettuce! It would seem that we are quite some way off self sufficiency at the moment!

We have been raided!

Oh, but we have! Over the last couple of weeks, I have done thrice daily trips down to the little cold frame out by the colditz poles / soft fruit plot. On hands and knees I have been observing life, or rather, lack of, in the yogpots I have planted out with various seeds, until yes! We have life!

Well, we did yesterday. On a 'put the babies to bed' trip last evening I peered, and I peered and I peered. Down on my knees I went to have a closer peer. SURELY there had been more little green sprouts sprouting up than were showing now.

"Lester" I called out, "Where have the seedlings gone!"
"Dunno" he said, a little tetchily as if I was accusing him of making away with them. Then in an 'I told you so' tone of voice he went on "I said it wasn't a good idea to put them in there. I said they wouldn't like it".
Oh so, they had cleared off now they were born? Decided that this hotel wasn't good enough, and taken a toddle off along the lane to a more preferable residence? "It must be slugs" I yelled back.
"There aren't any slugs in there, I would have seen the trail. They must have just died. I told you that they wouldn't do very well in there."
"They were alright at lunchtime..."
"Did you water them?"
"They were alright, I'm telling you." With that, I went into a huff, scooped up all the little yog pots and with a "It's probably that blasted donkey manure you made me use for compost. It's probably overwhelmed them and they've given up" flung over my should at him, I marched back to the kitchen caravan with my pots, leaving a scattering of slug pellets in the now defunct cold frame just for good measure.

And I was right! Because not only were there SLUG TRAILS in the yogpots which were there for all to see when we looked at the pots this morning, plus stumps where once there was a seedling which has now been sent heavenwards, or rather down the throats (if they have one) of the slug which has eaten it, BUT in the redundant cold frame there were loads of titchy slugs, all now lifeless. I stifled my immediate thoughts of 'oh, I've killed the babies', when I saw a huge 'mother' slug nearby who was also mort.

With great glee, I took Lester to show him the evidence. Since he knew he was treading on a fine edge, he aggreed that I was right about the slugs, and that I was 'doing a fine job' with raising the seedlings, and 'what are we having for dinner today, you are such a good cook' he said endeavouring to placate me knowing full well that often on Sunday I go on strike!

In the pots were aubergines, courgettes, broccoli, and others. But we have been raided by slugs using the contents of our yogpots as their table food, so we will have to start over again. The trials and errors of smallholding does keep one on ones toes, and it really is a battle to stop everything else from eating our food before we get the chance to do so.